


Do You Want That Gift-Wrapped?

by titania522



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Comedy, Department Store, Gen, Humor, Love Actually - Freeform, Mr. Bean and Alan Rickman, chirstmas drabble, gift shopping, gift wrapping, holiday drabble, oh the gift wrapping!, shopping scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 18:01:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5550068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/titania522/pseuds/titania522
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Yuletide in Panem</p><p>Day 9</p><p>All Haymitch wants to do is a Christmas Gift for his mother.  All Effie wants to do is wrap his gift.  Who will get their way?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do You Want That Gift-Wrapped?

 

 

** **

 

**Banner by the incomparable** [ **akai-echo** ](http://akai-echo.tumblr.com/)

**Written for[Yuletide in Panem](yuletideinpanem.tumblr.com) **

 

**Day 9: A Hayffie Christmas Drabble**

********  
  


**Do You Want That Gift-Wrapped?**

****

“Right, you keep yourself occupied while I visit the lingerie section, okay, dear boy,” said the matronly woman with the purple-tinted grey hair and lavishly applied makeup.  Particularly the rouge.  Especially the damned rouge.  She had smudges of the heavy red lipstick across her front teeth, as if she were a vampiric rabbit, searching for a cabbage or another rabbit to murder.

****

Haymitch couldn’t help but groan, his acid reflux rising to burn the back of his throat.  “Mom, could you not?”

****

His mother laughed, that ridiculous laugh that she’d developed later in her life, waving an overly manicured hand over her shoulder as if to shoo him away before taking the escalator up to the second floor, where she could lose herself in silks and laces that a woman in her late sixties had absolutely no business putting on, at least, that was how he saw it.

****

He scanned the chintzy glitter of the department store, the annoyingly trite holiday music tinkling merrily over the crowds of stressed and dazed shoppers, all wrangling for the perfect gift for people who probably had more than enough of what they didn’t need.

****

Haymitch was one of those people who resolutely stayed away from shops during the holidays. A regular Grinch, he thought Christmas should belong only to kids - what business did adults, who knew that they were engaged in the biggest bullshit shopping extravaganza of the year, have of going on and on and on about the Holidays? The way he saw it, this was just another device to make folks part with their money, like Valentine’s Day or Halloween.  

****

But that hadn’t stopped his sister Elise from roping him into going halves on a gift for their mother, who was upstairs frolicking in thongs and push-up bras.  Elise was too busy helping his eldest niece, Katniss, with her first pregnancy and did not have time to run this errand, nor any of the other idiotic thing she’d asked him doing lately. He’d seen the inside of more maternity sections than he’d wanted to ever see in his life. Katniss was due very soon, so it fell on him to get their mother a gift - Haymitch, possibly the most unqualified gift shopper in all of Panem.

****

With a grunt of annoyance, he browsed the jewelry counter, searching for something special that would fit their combined budget.  All this shit looked the same to him - glittery, sparkling, almost blinding to stare at. The dark wood framing the cases gave him relief as he scanned rings, necklaces, bracelets...

****

There.  In one of the display cases. That’s when he saw it.  The gold bracelet with the heart-shaped charm.  He peered at it through the glass, just catching his reflection in the window, causing him to wrinkle his nose.  It would make an excellent Christmas gift for his mother, though what cause she had to be so fixated on wearing jewelry and makeup, he would never understand. His mother had become unfathomable to him ever since his father died. But then, women had never made sense to Haymitch. That was probably why he barely had a romantic life to speak of and hadn’t had one in a long time.

****

“Merry Christmas!” came a shrill voice, so light and piercing, it stabbed his ears, ran through his brain and sliced down his spinal column, causing a violent shiver to roll in waves across his body.

****

“Eh, ahem, yeah,” he said as he continued to study the bracelet, attempting succinctly to ignore the blond-haired sales woman who had descended on him like a harpy.

****

“May I help you with anything, sir?” she said, her voice less sharp but just as grating on his nerves. He was sure there were animals in the wild who could not reach the octave of this woman’s voice. He looked up, and thought he was seeing a younger version of his mother by at least 25 years.  The sales woman had a layer of cake on her face that he suspected had been exorbitantly sold to her with the promise of improving her appearance, money he decided had been poorly wasted.  Her eyes were elaborately made up, with thick eyelashes, archly-painted eyebrows and lips that were, if possible, even redder than his mother’s.  The name-tag on the lady said Effie Trinket.  Haymitch decided he didn’t like her.

****

“How much is this bracelet?” he asked, pointing at the one he’d been studying earlier.

****

“Oh, that, well, yes, that is a lovely selection!  It’s $267.00, without tax, of course.”

****

“Of course,” he said dryly, looking over his shoulder to be sure his mother wouldn’t sneak up on him like a torpedo bomber.  “Alright, I’ll take it,” he said.

****

“Optimal selection, sir!” the woman beamed, showing a set of bright, white teeth which, to her credit, were not stained with rouge. This one was obviously a professional face painter.  “Would you like that gift wrapped?”

****

“Um...yeah, why not. Is it gonna cost me?” he said impatiently, hoping the painted lady would put a hustle on it.

****

“No, no, no!” the woman practically sang, grasping a white box from beneath the counter and a bright red bow.  “This is a courtesy service for our customers, as a reward for your loyalty and good taste,” she said, practically purring as she left each saccharine pronouncement behind her like a reindeer shitting peppermints.  Haymitch couldn’t help chuckling to himself at the image of Ms. Trinket prancing about with a trail of green and red mints streaming behind her.

****

Mistaking his smile, she beamed back, puffing herself up to almost twice her size.  “It’s lovely, isn’t it?” she said when she’d placed the jewelry inside the box and tied the red bow around it with a self-satisfied flair.

****

“Yeah, it’s a work of art,” he quipped dryly, taking out his wallet. “Can you hurry up there?  I’m trying to get out of here.”

****

“Of course!  Readiest in the flashiest of flashes!” she sang as she took out a blue tinted plastic bag, the box hovering delicately over the opening.  

****

“I don’t need a bag,” he huffed as he looked over his shoulder again. “I’ll just put it in my coat…”

****

Ms. Trinket put up a dainty forefinger, adorned with a thin ring, nails fashionably manicured with diamonds embedded in the lacquer, and wagged it before his nose. What he wouldn’t have given to be a rottweiler at that moment.  “Tsk, tsk, tsk, this is not a bag!” she exclaimed before dropping the box inside. 

****

“Well, what the hell is it, then?” Haymitch asked in exasperation.

****

The woman dipped her head towards him, almost slicing him open with her rigidly-styled, blond Barbie coiffure and whispered, “It’s so much more than a bag.”

****

She waggled her eyebrows at him as she opened a drawer beneath the counter and, with a dainty scooper, dumped decorative flowers that complimented the bow and sprigs of green leaves into the bag.  When she’d crushed the evergreen, and reached for the cinnamon stick, Haymitch scowled fiercely.  

****

“Look, lady, I didn’t ask for pancakes. I don’t need cinnamon in my damned gift,” he snarled. But the lady took no heed of his anger, smiling docilely as if he were a child refusing to eat his vegetables.  

****

“None of that, now. It will be wonderful when it’s done, I promise.  It is but a work of a moment,” she said, snapping the brown stick, releasing it’s heady aroma into the air before tying off the bag with a gold ribbon.

****

Haymitch took a deep breath of relief. He’d stink like Bath and Body Works but at least he’d finally have his gift. He removed his wallet from his pocket and fished two one-hundred dollar bills and a handful of twenties, ready to pay the lady.  But, of course, it was not to be. 

****

“Almost finished!” she sang happily.  

****

“What do you mean, almost finished?  What, are you going to do, dip it in chocolate?  Cover it is sprinkles?” Haymitch was panting now in anger.

****

“Well, I’m going to put it in a Christmas box!” she said as she took a giant gold box out from a deep drawer near her feet.

****

“What...but I don’t want a Christmas box!” Haymitch said, feeling his face turn purple. “Take my damned money before my mother comes back and her surprise is ruined!” he spat, slamming his money on the counter.

****

“Be careful!” Ms. Trinket huffed, “That is Mahogany!”

****

“Look, lady...can I just pay?” He looked over his shoulder, close to a panic. He was sure his mother would be down any moment.

****

“Just one final flourish!” she said brightly, recovering from the assault on her wood as she donned large, yellow dishwashing gloves and pulled out a giant sprig of holly.   _ God _ , he thought,  _ she’s going to give me an enema with a holly branch... _

****

“No, no, holly!  No gold gift box!  Take my money or I walk!” he snarled, counting out the cash and snatching the crinkly, perfume laden package from the gift-wrap stand.  

****

Ms. Trinket’s eyes widened in shock. “Well, I never!  Manners!” she exclaimed as she took the cash and turned with stiff shoulders to ring up his purchase. When she returned, she wore a deep frown, her bottom lip quivering.  “I am just a poor shop person trying to do her job…”

****

Haymitch rolled his eyes. He couldn’t believe she was going to cry. He pulled a five dollar bill from his wad and handed it to her. 

****

“Now, now, don’t go crying…” he said through clenched teeth but it was all for naught.

****

“Five dollars!” she squealed, earning a look from her colleague next to her.  “Five...I am worth far more than five dollars!  Octavia, please finish this transaction...I just...I’ll be in the break room…”

****

“But...” Haymitch said before a look toward the escalator told him his mother was gently gliding down the mechanical steps.

****

“Well, then,” the short, equally manicured sales girl said, pulling him out of his reverie and, to his horror, wearing yellow gloves with a long green sprig in hand. “Will that be holly or evergreen?”

****  
  
  
  


**Based on the gift-wrapping scene from the movie, _Love, Actually._**


End file.
